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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25192522">Our Paths They Will Converge</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omegarose/pseuds/Omegarose'>Omegarose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anakin Skywalker is Not the Chosen One, BAMF Padmé Amidala, F/M, Fix-It, Jedi Knight Padme Amidala, Padme Amidala is the chosen one, Role Swap AU, Senator Anakin Skywalker, Tatooine Slave Culture, anakin and shmi are probably force sensitive, plot similarities but lots of twists, this was inspired by a Tumblr post</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:49:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,296</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25192522</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omegarose/pseuds/Omegarose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Padmé Naberrie was discovered to be Force sensitive at a young age and sent to the Jedi Temple, as most children within the Republic were. She found out that she was the Chosen One when she was thirteen and being made Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan.</p><p>Anakin Skywalker encounters Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Padawan Padmé Naberrie in his master's machine shop on Tatooine. He has little connection to the Force, and certainly nothing as significant as Padmé, so he is left behind. Only Anakin was always destined to shape the world to how he saw fit, and that is not the end of his story.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anakin Skywalker &amp; Shmi Skywalker, Padmé Amidala &amp; Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>226</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Padmé Naberrie, sister to the elected Queen of Naboo, Jedi initiate, top of a half dozen of her classes, was the Chosen One.</p><p>She was told this when she was finally selected by a master, on the later side at thirteen. Even still, she had suspected she was different. The Force had always come so natural to her compared to everyone else in the crèche. She didn’t have to try to lift objects with the Force once she had first learned, she had more trouble filtering out perceived emotions than sensing them, her visions came vividly in her dreams and always came to fruition despite all the masters telling her that the Force didn’t work like that. The majority of the classes she excelled in had to do with using the Force, only politics and negotiation came otherwise easily.</p><p>So, after all of her agemates that were trying to become padawans were chosen<span>—</span>all while Padmé was there with her good grades and high Force Sensitivity and relative lack of behavioral problems<span>—</span>she had figured there was a reason.</p><p>Master Qui-Gon Jinn pulled her aside after one of the lightsaber lessons that he had been teaching for the past few weeks. “Initiate Naberrie, will you consider becoming my padawan?” he had asked almost out of nowhere.</p><p>Padmé knew Qui-Gon, vaguely. He taught several of her classes in the past, in the scattering of weeks that he was actually in the temple, and she’s spoken to him on occasion when she’d run into him in the gardens or hallways. Still, most masters had a somewhat close relationship with initiates before taking them as their padawans.</p><p>“Isn’t Padawan Kenobi….” she’d asked, hesitant. The Force was telling her that this was right, but a part of her still held back. <em> Yes </em> this was right, but Qui-Gon wasn’t meant to be her master. The Force was unusually foggy about the matter.</p><p>“Obi-Wan is in the process of being knighted,” Qui-Gon explained. “That leaves me searching for a new padawan.”</p><p>Padmé wanted to say that twenty-three was rather young to be knighted, or to ask why Qui-Gon was so quick to find a new padawan when he had <em> ((according to the rumors that she’d overheard)) </em> such a rocky beginning with Obi-Wan, or to straight-up inform him that the Force was acting strange around him.</p><p>Instead she told him, “Ask me again when Padawan Kenobi passes his trials.”</p><p>Six days later Qui-Gon was pulling her out of the Initiate dorms, once again asking if she would be his padawan. The Force was still foggy, but not nearly as bad as before. This was the right time to accept, even if Qui-Gon would not be her <em> master</em>, so she did.</p><p>Qui-Gon had smiled, and Padmé smiled back.</p><p>It was the next day that her presence was requested by the Council. She was in the midst of packing her things<span>—</span>mostly just spare clothes, the few sentimental toys she’d held onto over the years, and the scattering of gifts her sister Sola had given her when she’d visited Coruscant in her political career<span>—</span>when the supervising senior padawan gave her the summons. </p><p>Padmé was only nervous as she stood in front of the full council because the Force told her that something important was about to be told to her.</p><p>“Young Naberrie,” Master Yoda greeted.</p><p>“Master Yoda,” Padmé said with a respectful incline of her head.</p><p>“Do you know why you’re here?” Master Yaddle asked.</p><p>“No, master.” That wasn’t quite the truth, she had some idea. There was something she was going to be told, something that had to do with her Force sensitivity and why she had been chosen for a padawan so late and suddenly by a master she hardly knew, even if she had no idea <em> what </em> that something was.</p><p>“Do you know the prophecy of the Chosen One?” Master Shaak Ti asked.</p><p>“The Chosen One is said to be favored by the Force,” Padmé recited dutifully. “They are supposed to bring balance to the Force and will come in a time of great need.”</p><p>“Very good, young one,” Master Coleman Trebor said.</p><p>Padmé hesitated. “Why are you asking, masters?”</p><p>“Reason to believe, we have, that <em> you </em> are that Chosen One,” Yoda told her.</p><p>“Oh,” Padmé said.</p><p>The Force rang with truth. Either she actually was the Chosen One or it was important for her to think she was.</p><p>“It’s why you’ve had to wait for so long to become a padawan,” Master Ki-Adi-Mundi explained. “We wanted you to have a well experienced master, and the only Jedi that have been taking padawans in the past few years were knights or new masters.”</p><p>“Is that why Kenobi was knighted so early? So Master Jinn could be my master?” Padmé asked impulsively.</p><p>She noted that most of the masters had very emotional responses<span>—</span>disapproval, sorrow, anger, grudging acknowledgement, and amusement. She could piece together that, despite Obi-Wan passing his trials, the Council was of the opinion that he should be a padawan still, and were amused at her forwardness.</p><p>“That is between Master Jinn and Knight Kenobi,” Yaddle said.</p><p>“You’re taking the prophecy rather well,” Shaak Ti said.</p><p>Padmé shrugged. “It makes sense, I think.”</p><p>“Go, you will. Time to meet with your master, it is,” Yoda said.</p><p>Padmé bowed and left the Council Chambers. Qui-Gon was there to meet her.</p><p>“Did they tell you?” he asked.</p><p>“Yes, master.”</p><p>He nodded, approvingly. “It’s high time you learned.”</p><p>The Force wasn’t certain about that, but she verbally agreed with him anyway. Part of her agreed, as herself, too. She didn’t know how she felt about the Council keeping such a big thing from her when it affected her so much. Perhaps they thought it was best that she had a fairly normal upbringing, or they didn’t want word to spread beyond the Council for fear of what the Chosen One showing up meant causing panic or unrest.</p><p>Her things<span>—</span>only a few boxes and a bag<span>—</span>were sitting in the entrance of Qui-Gon’s apartment. Her apartment now, too, she supposed.</p><p>There were lots of plants, and an eclectic collection of what looked to be handcrafted art from all sorts of different planets. Despite being a moderate collection<span>—</span>even large, by Jedi standards<span>—</span>there seemed to be holes on the shelves and tables. Places that had the slightest discoloration from being covered from the light, spots that were all but bare, circles free of dust. Padmé knew the spaces must be from where Obi-Wan’s possessions used to be. He must have only moved out that morning, or in the past couple of days.</p><p>Padmé liked Qui-Gon, well enough, as she got to know him over the next few weeks. He was rather lenient, it seemed; in fact, at times it felt like he was encouraging rebellious behavior. He was calm and patient when instructing her, even if at times purposefully confusing. Every morning they would eat breakfast and drink their tea together, and most evenings they walked to the commissary together.</p><p>It had been nearly a month when Padmé ran into Obi-Wan.</p><p>She was coming into the apartment after her classes and he was standing in the middle of the main room holding a box.</p><p>“Hello,” she said, surprised.</p><p>“Hello,” he said, equally surprised.</p><p>Padmé supposed she must look strange to him, in the apartment that had been his for nearly ten years. Especially with her brand-new padawan braid that hung outside of her Nabooian-styled braid that was close to her head. Simple, by Nabooian standards, with only a few of the decorations that most girls her age would wear in their hair. It was the one of the few styles she could do by herself, and the only one of those that would allow her padawan braid to be clearly displayed.</p><p>Obi-Wan, too, looked odd to her. His hair was still fairly short and scruffy, like most padawans, though he was clearly trying to grow it out. Padmé hadn’t seen him often before he was knighted<span>—</span>he and Qui-Gon went on many missions, more than most<span>—</span>but it was jarring to see him without his highly decorated padawan braid.</p><p>“Is Master Qui-Gon here?” she asked.</p><p>Obi-Wan grimaced, only a brief flash. “No. I commed him, earlier. I just needed to pick up a couple of things I forgot in the rush-I mean, in the move.”</p><p>“Oh. Of course.”</p><p>Would it be weird for her to offer him something to drink? Would it be rude for her not to? This was his former master’s apartment, afterall, and more of his home than Padmé’s. He probably wanted to leave, anyways. No new knight would want to talk to a young padawan, much less the one that stole his master away from him.</p><p>“Will you be going on your first mission soon?” Obi-Wan asked. He looked terribly awkward, even the Force felt amused. </p><p>“As soon as my class cycle ends Master says that I’m ready to go on a diplomatic mission,” Padmé said, beaming despite herself. Most of her agemates had already been on their first mission, and she was excited by the prospect of her own.</p><p>“Do you know where to?”</p><p>“Probably something in the Mid-Rim.” The Mid-Rim as a first mission was a rather big deal<span>—</span>even if it was to a more peaceful planet like Alderaan or her home planet of Naboo. It was outside of the Core, therefore away from the concentration of Jedi that would be able to offer aid if needed.</p><p>Obi-Wan seemed to relax more as they spoke. “The Mid-Rim is usually barred to younger padawans for a reason. If you’re likely to be allowed there early, you must be quite advanced.”</p><p>“Didn’t you go to the Outer Rim as a new padawan?”</p><p>“Those were...extenuating circumstances. Normal padawnships are different.”</p><p>Padmé suddenly felt quite small. “Oh.”</p><p>“Is...something wrong?” Obi-Wan asked cautiously.</p><p>“I won’t have a regular padawanship, I don’t think. The Council thinks I’m...special.”</p><p>“My padawanship wasn’t regular, and it was quite exciting,” Obi-Wan said.</p><p>“Yes,” she agreed. “But the Council is watching me. I’m afraid that they’ll keep me from more dangerous things until they're absolutely sure I can handle it.”</p><p>“They can try, but unless Master changed in the past month he won’t listen to them much.”</p><p>Padmé was relieved to hear that, but still concerned about the Council. Qui-Gon wouldn’t be able to do much if they decided to withhold missions or only send her to peaceful zones. And what would happen if they decided Qui-Gon wasn’t a good master for her<span>—</span>surely the Council would be monitoring her training closely.</p><p>“I’m serious,” Obi-Wan said. “He won’t let the Council dictate all too much.”</p><p>Padmé met his eyes and the Force buzzed with warmth. “You think so?”</p><p>“I guarantee it, dear one.”</p><p>Obi-Wan stayed for nearly another hour talking with Padmé. They discussed the horror that was astrological navigation classes and swapped stories of being scolded by Master Windu during saber lessons, whether at fault or not. It was only when Qui-Gon’s Force presence rang with nearness that Obi-Wan made to leave with a hasty good-bye, barely remembering his box of things.</p><p>After that Padmé tried to run into him: seeking him out in the commissary, asking to sit with him if he was alone in the archives, following him and talking as he headed to wherever he was going. Not only was the Force warm and bright when she was around him, but she genuinely enjoyed his company. She liked to think he enjoyed spending time with her, too, given the many opportunities he had to shake her off, especially around his friends. It was funny, really, how well she got on with them too, despite there being no reason for it.</p><p>Padawan Bant Eerin was training to be a healer and was delighted Obi-Wan was socializing with his lineage sister given his poor or non-existent relationships with Qui-Gon’s two former padawans <em> ((though Padmé was of the mind that Xanatos didn’t count))</em>. Padawan Garen Muln mainly teased Obi-Wan, calling Padmé his “walking, talking shadow.” Knight Quinlan Vos was perhaps even worse with the teasing, but he treated Padmé like she was part of the group even when the topic of conversation drifted towards something adults usually tried to shield her from.</p><p>She was solidified as a regular companion when they asked her why she ate all her lunches with them and she admitted to having no friends her own age.</p><p>“No friends? At all?” Bant asked, clearly very concerned.</p><p>“Not really.”</p><p>“Not even crѐchemates?” Quinlan asked, sounding horrified.</p><p>“They didn’t like me much,” Padmé admitted. “I was really good at all the Force games and they all told me I was showing off.”</p><p>“You aren’t even a little close to any of your classmates?” Garen asked, seemingly perplexed.</p><p>“I usually have someone to partner up with, but not really”</p><p>“Are they mean to you?”</p><p>Padmé had to look at Obi-Wan when he asked, stilted and awkward but quiet, so quiet, something soft in his tone. He met her eyes, beseeching her to answer honestly.</p><p>“No, they’re not mean, they just don’t like me much.”</p><p>“Well, if you don’t want to sit alone or want to be alone <em> with </em> someone other than your master, I’m almost always in-temple,” Bant assured with an affectionate tug on Padmé’s padawan braid. Garen and Quinlan agreed, even though they were both in the temple much less often.</p><p>Garen elbowed Obi-Wan when he neglected to chime in. “What, no love for your little shadow?”</p><p>Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and shoved back. “She’s my sister padawan, of course I’m here for her if she needs or wants it.”</p><p>Obi-Wan was gone quite frequently on his own and paired missions given that he was a new knight, though they were rarely longer than a week or two. Apparently long undercover missions had never been Qui-Gon’s forte, leaving Obi-Wan far better equipped for the more visible role of political moderator or acting escort...not that it stopped him from having to sneak around and spy. Apparently their lineage was heavily susceptible to running into trouble where trouble wasn’t supposed to be.</p><p>Padmé got to go on her own missions not that long later, starting out on a peaceful mission on the Mid-Rim planet of Cerea and working her way up into slightly more dangerous and complex missions within the Mid-Rim. Qui-Gon was a good teacher<span>—</span>she was apparently naturally good at most lightsaber forms, but especially so with Ataru. Whenever she was in the temple at the same time as Obi-Wan she spent time with him, and occasionally would still sit near his friends even if he wasn’t there.</p><p>Despite her good relations with both her lineage brother and her master, the two of them never spoke.</p><p>She didn’t think that she had ever seen them make eye contact in the hallway, much less been in the same room or spoken. Obi-Wan never talked about it with her<span>—</span>she got the impression that he didn’t really talk about it with his friends, either<span>—</span>but she knew he was still angry. Padmé thought that Obi-Wan had every right to still be hurt even after two years went past. Qui-Gon never even made a move to reach out.</p><p>The two broke their silence on Padmé very first mission to the Outer Rim<span>—</span>a mission that wasn’t supposed to head to the Outer Rim.</p><p>There was a crisis on her home planet of Naboo and things were much more serious than initially appeared. It just so happened that Obi-Wan was near enough to be folded into the mission just before everything went sideways and their ship<span>—</span>including Padmé’s sister, Queen Sola, her handmaidens, an icy cold Obi-Wan, a seemingly indifferent Qui-Gon, an infuriating Gungan, a couple members of Sola’s court, and Padmé herself<span>—</span>was forced to land on Tatooine.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Edits made 9/25/2020</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ah-na-keen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anakin Skywalker wasn’t the Chosen One.</p><p>Of course he wasn’t. He was just a slave born on Tatooine, destined to remain one until he died. Remarkable only because he had a talent for machines and a knack for surviving podraces.</p><p>His mother had always told him that he was a gift from the desert. It was the polite way of saying that a Tusken Raider was his father. It happened all the time—slaves running to the desert to try to escape, either through freedom or death. <em> Dukkra ba dukkra. </em> Some joined the Tuskens, if that particular tribe needed more bodies to help their group survive or if they had plentiful resources to spare. Some traded what little they could for a meal and someplace to stay for the night, then waited in the sand until their masters found them or death took them. <em> Dukkra ba dukkra</em>, yes, but without outside help there was no hope for a fleeing slave in the desert.</p><p>Children born from such reclaimed slaves were called desert’s gifts. Uncommon, but in no means rare. Tuskens couldn’t breed with humans, but that said nothing of hybrids which is what made up most slaves that spent more than a generation in chains. Even if they looked human, like Anakin and Shmi did, they were definitely not full blooded. Enough proof would be to look at Anakin’s half-aunt, who had skin a beautiful blue and lekku to compare to a full blooded twi’lek.</p><p>So really, Anakin was no outlier or miracle or anything else of the sort. All that really mattered on Tatooine was the chip buried somewhere in his body.</p><p>That was, it was all that mattered until two Jedi walked into Watto’s shop. </p><p>Anakin wasn’t quite sure why, but he decided to bring them to his mother. Maybe it was because without shelter they would likely die, or because the girl was pretty and smiled at him like he was a person, or because he thought he might be able to hear Ar-Amu urging him on in the shifting winds.</p><p>Anakin and Shmi sheltered the pair for the handful of days it took for a Jedi—apparently one undercover in the very city they were in—to gather the funds that they needed to repair their ship. There was no talk of Anakin wagering his life in a podrace, no testing of a Force presence that may or may not be there astronomically large or barely existent or regular for a Jedi, and no promise of either Skywalker’s freedom.</p><p>Either way, it was the first time a non-slave had treated Anakin with any sort of respect that would normally only go to a freeman. It gave Anakin a sliver of what normalcy <em> should </em> look like to a child of his age, a sliver that shone light on all the injustices he faced on a daily basis which he <em> knew </em> were unfair but had no frame of reference for just how awful it truly was.</p><p>After they had gone, Anakin asked his mother, “They had the power to free us, if they wanted. Why didn’t they?”</p><p>Shmi was young, barely past twenty-five, but she looked much older than that. She looked as weary as the Grandmothers did at the end of a long day's work, like her bones could hardly take it any more before snapping under the weight of her own body. </p><p>“People who don’t suffer often can’t understand the lives of those who do,” she said, simply.</p><p>“That doesn’t mean that they can’t see it,” Anakin argued. He wanted to like the Jedi—Padmé who he called his friend, Qui-Gon who had a kind smile, Quinlan who he only saw for a handful of moments but handed him a bag of sweets.</p><p>“Anakin,” Shmi said gently, the secret but <em> correct </em> pronunciation rolling off her tongue as <em> ah-na-keen</em>. “In situations like this people don’t <em> want </em> to see. They had their own duties to attend, and likely made excuses in their heads for why they couldn’t help.”</p><p>The Skywalkers wouldn’t know that both Jedi had independently made mental notes to send someone to free the mother and son who sheltered and fed them despite their own hardships, only for one to die and the other to forget in her grief. It probably wouldn't have altered their opinions much, if they had known.</p><p>Anakin was in a melancholic mood for the rest of the day as he worked around the shop and went with his mother to the Whitesun’s to help Delina with her latest babe. As her master sold her children off as soon as they were old enough—around seven, or eight if they were scrawny—she needed the hands for the many little ones she always had underfoot. Even the joyous children pulling Anakin into their games wasn’t enough to brighten his mood.</p><p>“Will you tell me a story, mom?” he asked her that night, curled together in the lingering warmth that the chill of the night was sure to soon chase away.</p><p>“What story do you want to hear?” she asked. They spoke their own language behind their closed door and shut curtains. The language, so much clearer than Huttese and smoother than Basic, made him feel at home more than almost anything else ever would.</p><p>“Tell me about Ah-na-keen,” he requested.</p><p>“Of course, Ani.”</p><p>Her voice—quiet and lulling in their little room<span>—</span>took on a quality Anakin always thought conductive of something greater, the same way the Grandmothers sounded when they told the tales and legends of Amavikka passed. Shmi would make a good Grandmother if she managed to live that long.</p><p>
  <em> “Before Depur, Ar-Amu ruled over the people of Tatooine. She is the desert, harsh but fair. Her tears filled the springs and wells regularly and there was enough water for everybody. With her loyal companion at her side, everything was as it should be. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ar-Amu’s companion was a beast too terrible for any one name, called Ripping-Claws, Tearing-Teeth, Melting-Venom, Shielded-Skin, or Glass-Swimmer when a name was called for. Where the All Mother went, so did she, until Depur came. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Depur put Ar-Amu and her companion into chains, and he hoarded Ar-Amu’s tears for himself and made her watch as more of his kind enslaved her children. Melting-Venom-Ripping-Claws-Tearing-Teeth fought until she freed herself, but no matter how much of her strength she used she was unable to free the Desert Mother. She tried for many years, but eventually she grew weak and had to flee. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She went deep into the desert, far from either of the poles, where the heat is so overwhelming that the sand boils into glass. There she gathers strength and allies in her children, the great krayt dragons, the unfettered and free leias. One day she will return to Ar-Amu’s side and break the Depur’s chains. Only then will Ar-Amu’s tears be hers again, and all of her children will have water. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> This is where Shielded-Skin-Glass-Swimmer-Melting-Venom gets her most well known name. She is called Anakin, the Tear-Bringer.” </em>
</p><p>Anakin was mostly asleep at that point, nestled into his mother’s side. He loved the story of his namesake. Shmi said she had given it to him on a feeling that one day he would do great things.</p><p>“You were named for her, my dear, whatever you do will be remarkable,” Shmi whispered just as he finally gave into the pull of sleep.</p><p>Anakin Skywalker—<em>Ah-na-keen Ekkreth—</em>did not leave behind his chains at ten, but he was a desert’s gift and a child of Ar-Amu. He had the name of an omen and the unbreakable spirit of the twin suns themselves.</p><p>He would not be fettered long.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I just...love writing Tatooine Slave Culture so much. I actually already wrote this particular myth, in use for one of my other as-of-right-now unpublished aus, but it was good enough that I decided it needed to stay for this one ((and assumedly all my other Tatooine Slave Culture stuff in the future)).</p><p>  <a href="https://omegros.tumblr.com/">You can find my tumblr here!</a> Pop by to say hi, pop into my inbox, or send me a DM. I love talking about my fics and the greater fandom that surrounds them! </p><p>((Dropping comments always ups my motivation to write another chapter--a secret cheatcode if you liked the fic))</p><p>Edits made 9/25/2020 and 12/15/20</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. "Look out for her, my padawan."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“It’s time we have a real negotiation,” Sola said, stepping forward to stand beside her sister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The viceroy looked between Padmé and Sola—Padmé dressed in the robes of Sola’s handmaidens and having been giving orders as if </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> were the queen, Sola hardly looking the part with her billowing skirts long ago detached and sleeves torn off with a blaster in each hand and her royal paint smeared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé smiled serenely at the viceroy and withdrew her lightsaber from her sleeve to holster at her hip, as Sola grinned with a feral, fierce, vindictive edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with the droids shut down and the viceroy at their mercy, Padmé still felt some horrible dread curdling in her stomach. The Force all but wailed with it, muggy and indistinct. She worried—the Darksider had been powerful, but Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had insisted she stay with the queen, and she could hardly sense anything through her training bond with how heavily Qui-Gon had shielded it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was, until she could. The bond teetered and </span>
  <em>
    <span>snapped</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Had the Force not rushed to her, a comforting weight and a bolstering strength, she might’ve collapsed on the spot. She still nearly did. Her mind was alone in the emptiness, surrounded by nothing significant, untethered from a master grown familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the Force, she groped for an anchor even as she turned for the door. She needed someone to hold onto, like a child reaching for a hand to hold in the dark. Pinprick presences were everywhere—even in the remains of the deactivated and destroyed droid army, and wasn’t that horrifying in the fraction of a second she considered it—but one presence was strong. It burned red-hot instead of it’s normal pure brilliance, tained with rage and agonizing loss, but still so </span>
  <em>
    <span>bright</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Padmé grabbed hold. The fiery presence latched on to her, pulsing with the same desperation for comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Padawan Naberrie?” one of Sola’s handmaidens asked, undertone, grabbing her elbow in case she started to fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” she said. She was not fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sola sent her a worried glance from the negotiations table, a brief nod telling the handmaiden to escort Padmé out. Padmé couldn’t remember the girl’s name, despite the week she’d spent protecting her party. Arym, or Arna, maybe? She wasn’t that much older than her, seventeen, perhaps, at the eldest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as the door shut behind them, Obi-Wan’s anger drained like water in a sieve and Padmé fell to her knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Padawan Naberrie!” the handmaiden cried. The few guards in the vicinity took a step in their direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé struggled to her feet, waving them off. The handmaiden remained at her side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her sister was safe. The Darksider was taken care of. Naboo was out of the Trade Federation’s clutches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qui-Gon was dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to contact the Jedi Council,” Padmé told the handmaiden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take you to the comm’s room,” she said, leading her down the hall. She kept stealing concerned glances to Padmé, though Padmé took little mind. She thanked her when they’d reached the room, and asked to be left alone. The girl hesitated, but retreated back the way they came.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan was still there, sending waves of alternating comfort and agonizing grief. She tried to match each with her own wave of comfort—of warmth and understanding and love—but doubted she succeeded in the way she wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Padawan Naberrie,” Master Yoda greeted when she’d been patched through to the Council.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Masters,” she said, bowing her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How fairs Naboo?” Master Mace Windu asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The queen has regained control of the planet,” Padmé related. “The Trade Federation’s command ship was destroyed and their droid army was unable to operate without it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the Darksider?” Master Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dead, I believe,” she said. He had to be. Obi-Wan’s rage would not have dissipated like that had he lived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Master Adi Gallia leaned forward in her chair. “Where is your master, young one? And where is Knight Kenobi?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Qui-Gon’s dead,” Padmé said. It sounded wooden, even to her. “Obi-Wan was with him, beneath the palace. He lives.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Council was dead silent. The only noise in the room was the hum of the holo table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A great loss, this is,” Yoda said, finally. “A great loss to </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé’s lower lip wavered. Obi-Wan reciprocated with a pulse of </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m here</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will be on Naboo as soon as we can,” Master Depa Billaba said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, masters,” Padmé forced out, barely above a whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wandered through the palace. Twice a concerned looking adult tried to stop her, asking if she needed to go to the healers. Both times she simply told them that she was a Jedi and continued on before they could protest. She might’ve been looking for Obi-Wan—she wasn’t quite sure, she was following the pull of the Force as winding as it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, she could hear the people cheering—the Gungans must have reached the city, then, or Sola had sent word that all was good again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ended up in the main hall, not full of people but certainly bustling with Nabooian and Gungan alike, citizens and royal guards and warriors and politicians and deactivated droid bits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan was standing at one of the fringes of the hall. He looked incredibly pale and stricken in a way startling for someone who wasn’t on their deathbed. He was dirty and scrapped up and had near-miss burns staining his wrists and arms. He seemed to be unsteady on his feet, like the simplest breeze might knock him down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She probably looked the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obi-Wan?” she said, voice trembling despite the care she took to try and steady it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seemed to solidify, still off balance but more present in his surroundings. “I’m sorry, Padmé,” he said, nearly choking on his words. “He’s gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé threw herself at him and clung tight. He held her close, swaying and rocking the both of them through the flood of tears neither could hold back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should have been there,” she said. Had they let her come with them Qui-Gon might not be dead. Her sister might’ve been, she herself might be, but not Qui-Gon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, again, almost as if he hadn’t heard her. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé held on tighter, fingers digging into his robes and minds coming as close to melding as they could outside of meditation. They shared their grief, their loss, their fear of what faced them now that they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span> aside from each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just beyond their huddle of hurt raged a celebration of such tangible relief that Padmé would otherwise have been giddy with all the joy leaching into the Force. As it was, no wayward emotion would be able to penetrate her shields today. Especially not with Obi-Wan holding her so close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It must’ve been hours later that the same handmaiden that showed Padmé the comms room found them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Night had fallen outside of the palace with fireworks and laughter and music.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan and Padmé had moved a little aways from the main hall and into a side hallway, sitting on the ground in an alcove made to look out the large, curving window. Their tears had long since dried. Instead Padmé just felt numb, leaning against her lineage brother’s side and staring at nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Master Jedi?” the girl said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan blinked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Arym. Hello.” Obi-Wan sounded like a protocol droid might, stiff and human-</span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> but without a certain realness. Like he was following a pre-approved set of phrases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your elders are here,” Arym said with measured slowness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elders?” Obi-Wan asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I commed the council,” Padmé said. “Right-right after. They said they would come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been instructed to bring you to them,” Arym told them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé didn’t know if she would be able to make it to her feet in that moment unless someone bodily pulled her up. Once up, she was certain she wouldn’t be able to walk, just sway listlessly on her feet until someone either dragged her away or pushed her to sit back down again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, when Obi-Wan laboriously rose to stand she followed suit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They followed Arym through the palace, eventually stopping before what looked to be a private business room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, my dear,” Obi-Wan said without intonation. “Come on, Padmé.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The entire council was in the room. Padmé knew that to be unusual, but it didn’t spark any sort of reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one spoke for a long moment, as the two stood in the center of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Saddened by Qui-Gon’s death, we all are,” Master Yoda finally said. “Saddened for you, especially.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé took Obi-Wan’s hand, pressing close to his side, and bowed her head to hide the tears that spilled from her eyes despite her undoubtable dehydration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, master,” Obi-Wan said without missing a beat. He squeezed her fingers gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His funeral we will hold, here,” Yoda said. “On leave, both of you will go, before any decisions are made, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Decisions, master?” Obi-Wan asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Padmé will be needing a new master,” Master Mace Windu said, surprisingly gentle. “We will find potential-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Padmé interrupted, something bright and fierce flashing through her chest. She held tighter to Obi-Wan’s hand, other hand tangling in his sleeve and pulling on it. “I already have a new master!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The masters blinked at her. Mace narrowed his eyes a bit, at the rude interruption or the declaration Padmé didn’t know or care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knight Kenobi?” Master Plo Koon asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé nodded, desperately, saying: “The Force wills it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Council looked pained, like her claim was made out of distress and anguish rather than a commentary on the bond that had sprouted between the two, the gentle push of the Force like waves lapping at her ankles, the way that Qui-Gon hadn’t ever felt like her proper master. </span>
  <em>
    <span>((Maybe grief, too, but that didn’t matter.))</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What say you, my grandpadawan?” Yoda asked, looking to Obi-Wan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan’s other hand closed over Padmé’s other one, clinging to her just as tight as she was to him. “It’s as she says, master, the Force wills it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll discuss this later,” Mace said, voice sharpening into his more usual sternness, glaring at the other council members to let the matter lie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s right,” Master Yaddle agreed. “You both must rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé was exhausted, but she doubted she could sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a discussion to be had,” Obi-Wan said firmly, despite the way his voice wavered and choked over what might’ve been tears. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to train her. I promised Qui-Gon I would. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>made me promise!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Council was silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We already have a training bond, after only a few hours,” Padmé said, as she felt Obi-Wan shudder beside her. She held onto his arm all the tighter, hugging it to her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you won’t let us,” Obi-Wan said—and Padmé didn’t need to look at him to know that there were fresh tears on his face—“We’ll leave, and I’ll train her outside the temple.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé hadn’t known that </span>
  <em>
    <span>leaving</span>
  </em>
  <span> was on the table, but she would if Obi-Wan told her she must. If it was the only way for him to be her master. The Force was insistent upon it—had been for years. It was why being Qui-Gon’s apprentice had always been not-quite-right. He was always supposed to be a placeholder for her lineage brother to take over, for Obi-Wan to see her through the majority of her training.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two both need rest-” Plo Koon began, soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Correct, they are,” Yoda said. “Speak to them, the Force does. To be young Obi-Wan’s padawan, Padmé will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Council looked as though they wanted to argue, but Padmé nearly fell to the floor for a final time that day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan put his arm around her to hold her up. She leaned into him, as she had been, an anchor for the terribleness her world had come to. But it would be alright. He would be her master, and she his padawan. The Force assured her that this was what was meant to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would all be alright.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*drops in with a new chapter* </p><p>*drops back out* </p><p>*drops back in* </p><p>"psst check out one of my other star wars fics, or maybe take a look at some of the other fics for other fandoms that I've written" </p><p>*glances around* </p><p>"okay that was all" </p><p>*drops back out*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Cross the Desert</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Anakin was thirteen when the first man who was </span>
  <em>
    <span>serious</span>
  </em>
  <span> about buying his mother started stopping around the shop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His name was Cliegg Lars, and he was a moisture farmer in the south. He was nearest to the space port of Mos Eisley, though apparently that was a several hour speeder ride away. He came to Mos Espa for reasons that were never truly clear to Anakin. It was probably all an excuse, anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had </span>
  <em>
    <span>connections</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The type of connections that made the south an almost bearable place to be a slave, despite Jabba’s stronghold being there. Truly the south was worse, and it was better. Worse, for the depravity and the type of clientele that just as likely could send a slave to a grave or three star systems away under a new master’s chain. Better, because there was a chance at freedom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was due to the constant movement and changing of hands that slaves went through, in the south, that made it easier to slip them from their bonds. Where the most Anakin and his mother could do in the north was Sing and pray that the slave they’d taken a chip from got far enough to not get dragged back, there were actually arranged transports off-planet in the south.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cliegg came to Mos Espa three times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first he spoke to Shmi in the shop for nearly an hour before Watto kicked him out, yelling that he ought to make him pay for the privilege of Shmi’s time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was common enough for slaves to get rented out for all sort of work--household, sex, and decoration being maybe the most common, and companionship not that far from the mark on the latter two--even if Watto rarely sent them out for that. Anakin was too valuable with his skills in the shop and in a podrace, and Shmi as his only other slave too steady and hardworking to be worth the risk. Really, he only did when he had gotten too far into a debt of his own making. He was...kinder than most, in that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second time, Cliegg stayed for a few days. He spoke to Shmi in the evenings, after they had gone home, and offered up spare parts to Anakin, much to his distrustful glares. Anakin was kept too busy around the slave quarters fixing and making things to help make everyone else’s lives just a little bit easier to be around for most of those discussions, but he knew that his mother told Cliegg more about their people than she would to any other outsider. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She assured him that she knew what she was doing, that Cliegg Lars was not just any other freeman who only knew the hardships of slavery from a distance, through the bodies of others, but Anakin still didn’t trust it. He didn’t want his mother placing her faith in the wrong hands, not when he knew full well what freemen did to slaves when they thought they could get away with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The third time Cliegg made a bid for Shmi and Anakin both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin was fourteen, by then, and much too old to be sold alongside his mother. Much too valuable to be given up, too, unless for some extraordinary price.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cliegg didn’t have that kind of money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin hesitated to call anything about Watto kind, but not laughing in Cliegg’s face for even thinking of making a bid for Anakin was mercy. And there was what might’ve been genuine sympathy in the toydarian’s eyes when he said he’d consider selling Shmi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin knew Watto. If he was considering it, it was as good as done. It was a quiet sort of niceness to delay as he did. Anakin and Shmi would have one last night together in their little home in the slave quarters of Mos Eisley before she was headed to the south with Cliegg Lars.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Amu,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he whispered into her shoulder long after the twin suns had set and the three moons rose.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Anakin,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she breathed into his hair, arms wrapped tight around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know what else to say to her. What words were there to say?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll sing in the south,” Shmi said in the darkness. “And there I can know that the people have a chance. And Cliegg is not so bad, my dear, he’s been a stop on the trail for years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” said Anakin, and he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will see each other again,” Shmi told him, squeezing him tighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will see each other again,” Anakin echoed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No tears were spilled that night, nor the next day, nor the following evening as Cliegg came to help Shmi gather her things. There wasn’t the moisture to spare, not even the bantha milk or the rare sips of dirty water slaves were given as a treat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Cliegg said, looking so earnestly saddened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is what it is,” Anakin said. He wasn’t angry at Cliegg, not really. There wasn’t anyone else to direct his anger towards, though, so he felt the least he was owed was to resent the man a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shmi brought Anakin’s hand to her lips and kissed the tips of his fingers. Anakin did the same. When she let go so did he.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Ani,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Mom,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kitster stood beside him as his mother carried her meager things to the speeder that would take her and Cliegg to the transport that would take them to the south. Shmi didn’t look back, but Anakin stood there until the speeder was long gone and with it his mother and the man that held her detonator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kitster wasn’t the first to break the silence, or move. His mother had been sold off-planet three years ago and Anakin had paid him the same favor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever considered a desert walk?” Anakin asked, turning his face up to look at the sky. The suns were setting, leaving a pink haze over everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kitster grabbed Anakin’s hand, spinning to look at him, squeezing. “Ani-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it,” he said, still looking to the sky. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Amakuuna,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the largest moon, was three quarters full. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tenarakin,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the grower, was half its normal size. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Echuni, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the littlest, was a sliver and hard to see in the light of dusk and the other two moons’ brilliance. “I was six, I think, the first time I thought I might want to walk into the desert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I was eight,” Kitster said. “But-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin turned to face Kitster, suddenly clutching at his hand just as tight in return. His friend looked worried. Desert walks were what led to children like Anakin and bones left to be eroded in the sand. It was the one attempt most slaves could make before they would be blown up at the next misstep. For most, it was a right of passage to at least consider it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dukkra ba dukkra,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Anakin whispered because they were in the open, but he wanted to scream it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kitster looked as though he understood, but he still cast his eyes to their clasped hands and pleaded, “Don’t do anything stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin smiled. Had he felt more grounded--bedrock instead of shifting sand--he might have laughed. A desert walk in the traditional sense might’ve been a suicide attempt, but there wasn’t anything stupid about that level of desperation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, he didn’t have a traditional desert walk in mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t,” Anakin said. “I have an idea that I want to try.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The great unnamable Anakin lived deep in the desert, far beyond where things could live. Not Tuskens or banthas or even the toughest krayt dragon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stayed there, between the poles, near the equator where the sand could boil and turn to glass. She was there because she was only half herself without Ar-Amu and because Depur desired to have her in chains even still and because there she was unbothered and able to gather her strength.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Trickster Ekkreth went to the desert in all the stories that they defeated Depur, to gather wisdom and cunning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They led slaves to their freedom by taking them into the desert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they fled from Depur’s rage, they flew high in the sky and soared high above the sands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ar-Amu was the all-mother, and she was the desert. The sand and the sky and the bedrock beneath. Everything and all things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She led Tena into the desert when the Depur caught up to her and the feet of hundreds of runaways on their desert walks, and raged in storms to stop the depur from taking all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the unnamable Anakin was kept safe in the depths of the sand and Ekkreth escaped high in the air, Anakin would too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ar-Amu sheltered them and he knew with the same certainty that he felt while racing or piecing together an entirely new machine that she would do the same for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Transports from the north to the south were common, and moderately inexpensive. People like the Hutts had their own private one, but the public transport was nearly as common. The crafts had to break atmosphere for both optimal speed and to avoid mishaps near the equator from occurring. They didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to break atmosphere, though, as long as they were built right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin didn’t have the ability to build or take something that could break atmosphere, but he could piece together a transport that was strong enough to cross the desert.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a feat to keep all the parts hidden for the months it took for Anakin to get them. He buried them in the floor and disguised them in the other scraps of machine he was allowed and kept things tucked in hidden corners of Watto’s shop. If Kitster and others in the slave quarters hadn’t helped he doubted he would have managed. Even still, it was difficult.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin found great glee in dismantling all but the shell of the pod he was forced to race in, a week before he was to leave. Podracing used to be the closest he came to flying, but it wasn’t freedom. It was a circular track and it was only feet from the ground. The pod was, in fact, worth more than the common slave. A piece of property, like himself. Another thing to take away from his depur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were no other singers in the slave quarters, aside from himself. It was almost hopeless to escape, and as thus there was less of a demand for people to learn as there might be in the south or a Hutt strong-hold. That was fine, though. Anakin had a scanner and the chip was in his right wrist. He could get someone to cut it out without fear of too severe lasting damage. Losing use of a hand was better than a foot or a leg or risk any cuts in organs. Even with an experienced Singer like Shmi or even Anakin himself, infections were always a risk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the chip was cut out he would leave, in the night and no one would know or be crazy enough to follow in any speeder til the morning. By the time Watto realized Anakin was gone he wouldn’t even know where to look. He might send someone to Cliegg Lars’s farm, but if they couldn’t find Anakin there would be little else he could do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kitster called him insane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin promised to come back for him, if he lived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kitster made him promise with a grin that held only the tiniest sliver of hope, but it was hope that was new.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>News spread through the quarter--through Anakin asking if they would hide spare parts and questioning others who worked on ships and conferring with the grandmothers for wisdom. Nobody called him anything because there was scarce opportunity for frivolous conversations, but he saw it in their eyes. They thought he was young and foolish and crazy. They feared, if he failed, the depur would come down hard on their quarters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They wouldn’t say that to him, though, because like Kitster they wanted to hope that it’d work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Under the cover of night, a twi’lek cut out Anakin’s chip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zir name was Bentu and zi had never done a surgery before. Zir voice shook as zi sang, so much that the grandmother there, Mitta, took over leading the songs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bentu bandaged his wrist and whispered luck before slipping back to zir own home. Zi had three young ones as a result of the brothel zir master sent zir to whenever she didn’t have work to give. Bentu was only Anakin’s mother’s age, if that. He thanked zir for zir work as zi left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will have a harsh journey ahead,” Mitta told him. She was the eldest of the grandmothers that lived in the quarters--wizened with age and work and suffering. She was one of many who looked obviously mixed species at a glance, with a ring of horns like a zabrak and stunted lekku like a twi’lek, skin a pallid yellow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, grandmother,” Anakin answered. His wrist throbbed and it hurt to move his fingers. That was fine, though. His transport was fully assembled and he didn’t need both hands to fly it. And if he needed any help he would have Threepio on board. Another thing that he would be stealing from his depur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ar-Amu will be looking over you, my child,” Mitta said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will be strong for her, and for my mother, and for everyone here,” Anakin promised. “I will search for freedom in place of those who cannot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mitta smiled with all five of her teeth. “May Ekkreth carry your wings, and the night cover your tracks, and the moons guide your path.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anakin set off in the small transport, big enough for Threepio and him to be comfortable--it’d be big enough for maybe ten, if they squeezed tight, but he hadn’t wanted to risk anyone else’s lives tonight. His own was enough, and Threepio necessary because there was no telling what Watto would do with him if he had been left there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The desert was cool, in the night, all heat leeched away. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Amakunna </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tenarakin</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Echuni </span>
  </em>
  <span>glowed bright enough for him to see, but not so bright as to worry for those within Mos Espa to see as he ran to the transport and began to navigate it across the sands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If something were to go wrong the deeper he went, he would die. He trusted his craftsmanship, but he knew this to be truth. He didn’t care, though. Either he would be near his mother again, would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>free, </span>
  </em>
  <span>or he would be dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dukkra ba dukkra.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is in celebration of finals being over! Yay!</p><p>A lot of what I have written is my own version of Tatooine Slave Culture, but a heavily inspired one based mostly around fialleril's original creation.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Qui-Gon Was Kind of an Asshole</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was a bad year, after Qui-Gon’s death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone had seemed to expect it, at least, as Padmé received hardly any reprimands in her classes, Obi-Wan was given perhaps half of the typical new-knight or new-master criticism, and the both were frequently asked on how they were. That didn’t make it hurt any less, but it did alleviate some pressure. Especially for Obi-Wan, though in Padmé’s opinion he was still putting an insane amount of stress and blame on himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About two months into their loss Padmé finally met the eldest of her two lineage brothers—because Xanatos didn’t count and Obi-Wan still did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feemor was mostly unfamiliar to Obi-Wan, too, though they had tended to try and meet for an hour or two annually. Feemor had been pushed to knighthood by Qui-Gon earlier than he was ready—even if he, like Obi-Wan, had passed his trials—and after Xanatos, Qui-Gon had done...something. Padmé had never been told what, exactly, had occurred, but it was equivalent to a slap to his first padawan’s face. Perhaps Feemor and Obi-Wan could have been closer, like Padmé and Obi-Wan, had Feemor been on fewer long missions and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon given longer breaks between their many.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The greetings exchanged between the three were awkward and stilted, following them as the formalities of refreshments were made up. It wasn’t until they were sitting among Qui-Gon’s plants, sipping out of mismatched cups that Qui-Gon had collected over the years, the artwork and small gifts his padawans had presented to Qui-Gon over the years displayed all around them, that the somber stiffness finally broke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Qui-Gon, may he be one with the Force,” Feemor said. “Was kind of an asshole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had all laughed—harder than they should have, tinged with grief, but truly </span>
  <em>
    <span>mirthful</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a way that Padmé doubted she had felt since the day she felt her master torn from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since then the three had come to an understanding, of sorts. Feemor still had missions that could last months at a time, and as Padmé grew she and Obi-Wan spent more of their time out of the temple than in. When their schedules coincided, though, they made sure to visit. They were the survivors of their lineage—without a master or even a grandmaster, with how Master Yan Dooku had taken his permanent leave scarcely a month after Qui-Gon’s death. He, too, had stopped to give condolences, even if it had been for a very brief and somber moment. Padmé never spoke to him much, but she knew Obi-Wan had been close to him during a time in his padawan ship. It was another blow, and another person that he was unable to look to for guidance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first year had been an unofficial probation, and the ensuing few had been relatively typical of a young knight with their first padawan. A little more heavily scrutinized than most, perhaps, given the lack of support network of the lineage, the origin of their pairing, and Padmé’s...still confidential status as most-likely-the-Chosen-One. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan had to learn of it, of course. He had gone frighteningly pale, pretended as though he was fine, and then shut himself in his room for an entire day. When it came up, on the rare occasion it did, he seemed almost queasy at the thought. Padmé could relate to that, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé’s sister’s term as queen ran to its end and she was reelected, and was quick on her way to being a sensible choice for senate when that turn was up. The current senator, who had taken over when Sheev Palpatine had been elected Chancellor, wasn’t nearly as popular as Sola. At the very least it would bring Sola to Coruscant frequently, and give Padmé a chance to see her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinlan took on a padawan who was a few years younger than Padmé, named Aayla Secura. She was likely the closest thing to a good friend her own age that Padmé had. They were not as close as some, many having been friends since the crèche, but they went on enough joint missions together to have a true camaraderie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Generally, life continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she was eighteen she had finally been allowed to the Outer Rim for a proper mission there, as she was officially a senior padawan. Obi-Wan had been a nervous wreck for the entirety of the mission, even if he hid it well. He himself hadn’t had good experiences in the Rim, especially not during his own teenage years. Nothing too terrible happened, luckily, but that only slightly eased his worrying in following missions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Padmé had long suspected he would do good to go to a mind healer. She only knew some of what his padawanship had been like, even with speaking to Bant, Garen, and Quinlan. Feemor, too, had hinted at...well, not at anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span> but certainly things that would leave an effect on people. Even Padmé had things that she couldn’t shake, from her short period of being apprenticed to him. As Feemor said—and as Padmé and Obi-Wan had taken to saying, when the subject came up—Qui-Gon, may he be one with the Force, was kind of an asshole. They all still cared for him deeply, of course, but they could at the very least admit he had faults.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is rather short because I don't have all that much for this time period that I wanted to add. Anakin's story line during this part is infinitely more interesting, I think. There should be a more even split starting with Padme's next chapter though, I think.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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